


A Chance of Showers

by wolfraven80



Category: Enchanted Forest Chronicles - Patricia Wrede
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5449526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfraven80/pseuds/wolfraven80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the wedding looming, Morwen and Telemain have their hands full. But when something begins interfering with one of Telemain’s spells, he finds himself more than a little distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One: In Which Morwen Receives a Guest or Two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grlgoddess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grlgoddess/gifts).



> This is my first time participating in Yuletide so I hope I fulfilled the request properly. I also hope you like long stories--as you can see, this one kind of ran away with me. ;) I wrote a story about Morwen and Telemain (on ffnet) once before, a few years back after I first read the books. It was wonderful having a reason to revisit the Enchanted Forest so thank you for requesting this. I hope you'll have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

**A Chance of Showers**

 

**One: In Which Morwen Receives a Guest or Two**

 

            Morwen’s day began as many days did in the Enchanted Forest: with an enchanted prince.

            When she had heard the knock on the door, she had hoped it was Telemain, but immediately realized it was not, for the cats would have announced his arrival with acerbic glee. Quiz had taken to calling him “the bumbling magician”, while Sleet announced him as “the invader”, and Orlando Ariosto’s name for Telemain was almost too rude to bear repeating. Needless to say, the cats, with the possible exception of Cass, were not much pleased with Morwen’s wedding plans.

            As raindrops began to patter on the roof of her small, neat house, Morwen chided herself for that twinge of disappointment. She had talked to Telemain every day since the battle with the wizards, and she would see him every day for the foreseeable future, so there was no sense in mooning about like a schoolgirl.

            She paused a moment to straighten the small square glasses perched on her nose and then opened the door. Standing on her porch was a sodden young man in a scarlet brocade doublet that had once been very fine but was now spattered with mud, torn in three places, and sporting an alarming cluster of purple burrs on one side.

            “My name is Prince Alfred of the kingdom of Alesteria,” he said, his words oozing out with about as much energy as a mud puddle. “I’m on a quest and... well... a squirrel told me to come here.”

            Morwen gave Alfred a thorough once over. Everything about him was droopy, from the limp feather in his cap to his stooped shoulders and the mustache wilting on his upper lip.

            “Why don’t you come in out of the rain?”

            “Thank you, I shall,” he said, a sigh trailing after his words.

            He followed her into her comfortable living space and stood there for a moment, dripping. Sleet, a long white cat, slunk closer, inspected the pool of water forming around his boots, and sniffed intently. “He smells like fish,” she announced finally. “Muddy fish.”

            Morwen gave the cat a look to remind her that she would brook no nonsense with her guests and Sleet’s tail swayed a few times before she sauntered off as if it had been her intention all along.

            She waited until she’d gotten Alfred settled at the table and put a cup of tea and some spice cookies in front of him before asking what brought him here.

            When he sipped his tea, one corner of his mustache came up damp. “On my seventeenth birthday an evil sorceress placed an enchantment on me that brought misfortune to the entire kingdom. I was sent out on a quest to break the enchantment.” He heaved a sigh and peered gloomily into his cup.

            “None of that,” Morwen said with a sniff. “A quest is a normal part of a prince’s coming of age.”

            “I know, but I didn’t expect it to be so... wet.” Alfred munched on his cookie. Several large crumbs escaped him, and before she could do so much as blink, a furry blur leaped upon them and licked them up. Jack Sprat, an orange and white tom, licked his chops with a smug air.

            “And how did you end up in the forest?”

            Alfred set down his teacup to reach into an inner pocket of his doublet. He extracted an oiled letter pouch. “My father, King Eldenbrand, sent me with a letter of recommendation to King Mendanbar.”

            Morwen’s lips twitched at what Mendanbar, who had always hated formalities, would make of that letter. Or, for that matter, what Cimorene would make of it. But then hapless royal guests were an almost weekly occurrence so they were most likely quite accustomed to it by now.

            Most of the cats had fled the room, crossing through the magic door into other parts of the house, apparently offended by the Prince of Alesteria and his muddy scent. Only Cassandra, a small grey cat, remained, padding across the room to rub herself against Morwen’s ankle. “Your magician is here,” Cass said softly. And if that made Morwen’s heart patter a little faster, well at least no one was the wiser.

            A moment later the door swung open and Telemain burst into her house. He wore his usual grey pants and shirt with the long black vest in which he kept his magical ingredients and tools. In spite of the rain he was completely dry. “I checked the parameters again but the atmospheric matrix continues to be completely unstable. It doesn’t make sense! The diametric ratios should be–” He broke off as his eyes settled on her guest. “Oh.” He looked from Alfred to Morwen and back again. “I’m having trouble with a spell,” he said finally, a muscle in his cheek twitching a little as he did. Morwen suppressed a smile; she knew how much effort it must have taken him to be so... imprecise.

            “Telemain, this is Prince Alfred of the kingdom of Almeria.”

            Telemain bowed and while the two exchanged polite greetings, Morwen let her eyes linger on his lean frame. His beard and mustache were as neatly trimmed as ever and his dark hair was unruffled by the elements. Tools and pouches hung from his wide black belt, attesting to the fact that he’d been busy with magical work this morning–as he always was. Even as he ran through the social niceties, his brow was furrowed in consternation, his eyebrows bunched up over his bright blue eyes. He caught her looking, and his expression softened as, for a few beats, he held her gaze.

            “Tea?” Morwen offered, lest she turn into a moon-eyed ninny.

            Telemain sat down with them and she got out some tea biscuits and the elderberry jam she knew was his favourite. She was immeasurably proud of his restraint as he managed to avoid using any technical jargon for the duration of the meal. Afterward, he excused himself saying he needed to check on an experiment  and then disappeared through the magic door into the room that would be his study once he finished transporting the rest of his belongings from his tower. There had been no question that he would move in to her house. Her home was the more comfortable of the two dwellings, and while it had taken significant preparation, adding the extra rooms to the magic door had been straightforward enough. He would have his own study and a workroom for his research–both necessities for a magical theoretician like Telemain.

            The rain was still coming down in a steady stream when Alfred heaved another sigh and announced that he should be on his way.

            “Follow the river and then once you see the path stay on it no matter what,” she reminded him. She had already given him the directions to the King of the Enchanted Forest’s castle, but felt it was worth repeating; young men on quests rarely managed to follow directions. “You should reach the castle before dark.”

            “Thank you, Madam Morwen,” he said, with a bow of his head that caused his cap to slide down over his eyes. He pushed it back, but the feather tucked into the cap now drooped at an even more precarious angle.

            “Before you go, I do have one thing that might help.” Crossing the room, she opened up the wooden trunk in the corner and concentrated on the item she was looking for. An enchantment on it allowed the trunk to store many more items than its appearance would suggest, but in order to retrieve them, it was essential to keep track of what was being stored in the first place. After a few seconds her hand emerged with a hooded cloak. It was a rather unfortunate shade of mustard yellow, the result of the hippocampus scales that gave the garment its waterproof qualities. “This should keep you dry.” She offered it to him and, after peering at it for a moment, he took it and put it on.

            Alfred thanked her again, sighed another weary sigh, and then, shoulders sagging, headed back out into the rain. When he was out of sight, Morwen turned to her magical door, which currently opened onto the library. She focussed on the image of Telemain’s study until a closed door appeared in the doorframe. Knocking once, she waited for his muffled “Come in,” before entering. She knew better than to waltz into a magician’s study unannounced; the consequences of such a mistake could be disastrous for all parties involved.

            The air of consternation had returned to Telemain’s features as he paced back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. “Even taking into account the residual effects of the battle on the forest’s energetic frequency, there should not be this much resistence to the gradual atmospheric adjustments I’ve been making.”

            “And this is the same technique you used when you made it sunny for Mendanbar and Cimorene’s wedding?”

            “Yes. The approach remains unaltered. It’s as if there’s some type of... interference.”

            “You can sort that out later. We need to finish placing the safety spells on your new workroom.”

            “But, Morwen–”

            Morwen set her hands on her hips. “I’m not about to let you set fire to my house the first time one of your magical experimentations goes awry, just because you were too distracted to take proper precautions. Sloppiness doesn’t suit you, Telemain.”

            He looked put out for a moment but then only nodded. “Yes, of course. You’re right. Before I can do any significant work, the space needs to properly secured.” He gestured toward the magic door. “Shall we?”


	2. Two: In Which Telemain Talks to Cats

**Two: In Which Telemain Talks to Cats**

 

            Telemain frowned at the book in his hands. Outside it was cool, grey, and very damp–not at all the weather he was trying to create for their wedding, which was now only two days away.

            Over the past days he’d reviewed every text he could think of that dealt with the principles of weather alteration, but nothing was giving him any insights into his dilemma. Setting down the book, he leaned back into the padded chair and let his gaze drift around the library as he ran through his mental catalogue.

            The decision to relocate to Morwen’s house once they were married had been a simple one for Telemain. The more difficult decision had been what to do with their separate, and very extensive, libraries. After a great deal of discussion they had opted to simply add a wing to the current library rather than trying to combine their collections, which would have required them to agree on a cataloguing system–an unusually difficult task for those coming from distinct magical disciplines.

            So lost in thought was he, that he didn’t hear Morwen approaching until she was standing next to him. She rested a hand on his arm and he was struck by how natural it felt, as if they had always been together this way.

            He glanced up at her, eyebrows raised. “Hmm?”

            “It’s time for lunch and you need a break from scowling at obscure magical treatises.”

            “I was _not_ scowling. I was thinking.”

            “Think as much as you like, but you still need to eat.”

            In the past, he’d believed that distractions were detrimental to his work, but over the years he’d revised his position on the matter. Spending time with Morwen had always turned out to be beneficial, both because she could offer a different perspective on magical matters, and because her company allowed him to return to his work refreshed. “I need go out and investigate the interference patterns firsthand.” And then, before she could object, “After lunch.” He smiled wryly.

            She was smiling too and it pleased him. Morwen was lovely–she always had been. Her pale ginger hair was arranged neatly on her head, so as not to get in her way when she worked. The loose black robes she always wore were the only traditional part of her attire. That lack of attention to witchly conventions was another thing he had always appreciated about Morwen. Practicality ran in her veins; conventionality did not. The warm glow of the library’s lamps glinted off her gold-rimmed glasses and there was a softness to her features as she peered down at him.

            Telemain took the hand that still rested on his arm. “Would you like to come with me?”

            “I can’t,” she said, with regret. “I’m making an extra batch of cider so Kazul can take some home with her after the wedding.”

            “Next time then.”

            Morwen smiled. “Next time.” And he smiled too, because the fact that there would be a next time and many more after that, filled him with a frothy sort of warmth that he felt certain he could assert was happiness.

 

#

 

            Mist had risen out of the river that ran near Morwen’s home, seeping into the spaces between the trees and winding around their wide, mossy trunks. It was the sort weather that led adventurers to stumble into the homes of grumpy enchantresses who turned them into salamanders or ornamental blossoms. This was of little concern to Telemain of course; he had been a resident of the forest long enough to navigate its paths with few visual cues even without the detection tool he was currently studying with utmost focus, a silver watch with an orange face. It had four hands, which kept swinging from left to right at seemingly random intervals. The more they moved, the deeper Telemain’s frown grew. To an untrained observer it would have appeared as if he were trying very hard to make out the time.

            After some minutes of observation, he shook his head and began walking deeper into the mist. Perhaps he would get a clearer reading further on. There was definitely some sort of interference, but he couldn’t seem to pin it down to a specific source. It was every bit as elusive as his attempts to pin down when he’d become so fond of Morwen. Had he felt this way when they’d been young or had it happened when he’d moved to the forest? Or sometime in the intervening years?

            Heaving a sigh, he tried to push the thought from his mind. Categorising emotion was a frustrating and ultimately futile endeavour. The realm of feeling lacked precise terminology and distinct boundaries. Where were the borders between admiration, affection, and attraction? And how did these things converge to become that grandly amorphous term “love”? That he loved Morwen was certain. That he found himself completely unable to explain how that had come to pass, was equally certain.

            The mist was beginning to dissolve into a fine drizzle when the device he held gave a shudder, and all four hands shot to the twelve o’clock position. Telemain looked up from the dial in time to see a yellow blur rush by through the mist and disappear again behind a stand of huge trees. Frowning, he was about to follow to investigate, when a second, much larger, yellow blur broke through the mist and charged towards him. This blur had a shaggy mane and an impressive set of very sharp teeth.

            Telemain held up his left hand, palm inward, three magic rings glinting on his fingers, and chanted,

 

            _“By the power of these bands,_

_Bind this creature where he stands.”_

 

            The lion–for the blur was indeed a large, soggy lion–froze mid-leap. Water dripped from his mane as if he’d just gone for a swim. When the mouth opened wide, revealing rows of long white fangs, Telemain was expecting a roar. What came out instead was, “Lemme _gooooo_!”

            Telemain’s eyebrows shot up. “Fascinating. You can talk, but,” and here he tilted his head, “I don’t detect any residual enchantments on you.”

            “I’ve been able to talk for years and years. Even since I ran into the King. He did something so that we could talk and ever since then everyone can understand me.” The lion heaved a sigh. “I sort of wish they couldn’t. It used to be I could just roar and chase people away from the Pool of Gold. But now they always want to stay and chat–even when I tell them I’m going to eat them. ‘But I’ve never met a talking lion,’ they say and they start asking questions and it just goes on and on. I never get any peace.” He heaved a sigh even more doleful than the last. His left ear twitched once, twice, and he whined. “Can you let me down now? I have a terrible itch.”

            “Oh,” said Telemain, his eyes flitting between the dial and the lion. The hands had returned to dancing around the dial with no clear pattern. “Yes, of course.” He clapped his hands once and the lion’s limbs were released. Immediately, the lion sat and his back leg shot up and began to vigorously scratch his left ear. Telemain watched him intently, but if the lion’s speech was Mendanbar’s doing then there was little to be learned; the source of Mendanbar’s magic was the forest itself so it tended not to leave the sort of residues outside magic did. Direct observation of Mendanbar’s interaction with forest was the only way to understand the process.

            The lion had finally stopped scratching and let out a long, satisfied breath. “Ah that’s better.” He fixed his attention on Telemain for a moment and appeared to consider him. “You’re not going to the Pool of Gold, are you?”

            “No, I had no intention of heading in that direction.”

            “Oh good. I don’t like to chase magicians. Being frozen in place is very undignified.” He shook his main and straightened up as if to emphasise how injurious such treatment was for such a regal creature. The effect was somewhat spoiled by his sodden main clinging to his body except in a few places where it stuck out at odd angles.

            “Who were you chasing just now?”

            The lion scented the air as if checking if the intruder were still nearby. “I don’t know. I was just getting back to the pool when I saw him.”

            “Getting back?”

            “A knight came by the pool earlier and kept asking questions. He had it in his head that I was an enchanted prince that had been cast out of his kingdom by his evil uncle.” The lion snorted. “A prince! He thought I was a mere prince! Can you image that?” Telemain’s mouth opened to make an observation but the affronted lion began to pace back in forth in place and appeared not to expect a response. “I told him, ‘I am _not_ a prince. I am a lion!’ But did he listen? No!”

            The lion continued on about the prince for some minutes more and Telemain began to surmise that perhaps it was the lion as much as his guests that causes the prolonged visits at the edge of the Pool of Gold.

            “Finally I had to just tell him I thought I heard a princess in distress. But then he insisted I lead him in the right direction so I had to leave the pool for a bit. And then on the way back it started to pour.” He gave himself a shake, but his mane remained plastered to his body. “I hate rain,” he muttered sullenly and huffed.

            “Yes but about the intruder,” Telemain prompted. He’d never imagined large felines could be so garrulous. Certainly Morwen’s cats never went on at such length–at least not from what he could gather from Morwen. Developing a spell to understand her cats had occurred to him, but he wasn’t entirely certain it was a good idea, at least judging by the looks she sometimes shot them when he walked into the house.

            The lion straightened. “I was just getting to that. It was pouring rain and when I got back to my pool and everything was muddy and wet and there was this fellow sitting by the water.”

            “Doing what precisely?”

            “Moping,” the lion said with a nod. “ _He_ didn’t stop to talk. I didn’t even have to roar. He saw me and took off.”

            His instruments continued to give him inconclusive readings and though he had ample evidence that this inclement weather was going to continue, the lion’s story was of little help in determining the cause of interference. Telemain decided he’d best be on his way; he did not want to spend the rest of the afternoon conversing with a talkative lion. “Shouldn’t you check on the pool in case he circles back around?”

            The lion’s ears perked up in alarm. “Oh dear. I hadn’t thought of that. Oh no. If he gets into the pool I’ll be in terrible trouble. I’d better head back.” And with that he turned tail and ran back towards the Pool of Gold.

            Relieved, Telemain turned his attention back to his readings. The blip on the dial had been so fleeting he couldn’t even determine if it had been a legitimate reading or a simple anomaly, perhaps due to some part of the forest shifting around–as it tended to do from time to time. He had just decided to return to his original course, when an ear-splitting yowl startled him from his thoughts.

            Telemain spun around only to find a very familiar black and white cat perched in the branches of a nearby oak. “Oh hello,” Telemain greeted the cat. The cat–Quiz, he was almost certain– yowled again and Telemain moved to join him under the cover of the tree, which had kept the cat mostly dry. “I thought you all stayed in when the weather was bad.” Quiz lashed his tail back and forth in a clearly irritated manner. Telemain sighed. “Would you like to head back to Morwen’s? I can use a transportation spell.”

            It seemed that that was exactly what Quiz had wanted, for the cat leaped from the tree directly onto Telemain’s shoulder. The magician yelped as several sharp claws pierced his vest, shirt, and through to his shoulder.

            Never had Telemain executed a transportation spell as quickly as that one. In seconds they were standing in front of Morwen’s cozy grey house with the red roof and the neat front porch. Quiz remained where he was until Telemain walked through the door. Once they were inside, the cat jumped down and sauntered off to curl up on one of the cushioned chairs.

            Morwen appeared through the magic door in time to see Telemain rubbing his shoulder, and scowling at the curled up cat. “Telemain?”

            “Your cats have rather pointed appendages.”

            Morwen shot Quiz a disapproving look, which the cat pointedly ignored by keeping his eyes shut and flicking the tip of his tail. “I suspect he was holding on a bit more tightly than he needed to.”

            “Oh,” Telemain said, and he must have appeared crestfallen because immediately Morwen took his arm and led him to one of the chairs, insisting that he taste the fresh batch of cider. And sipping cider with Morwen was certainly worth dealing with a few ornery cats.


	3. Three: In Which There is a Great Deal of Rain

            The magic mirror that hung on the wall of Morwen’s study had been a gift from Telemain after he’d first moved to the Enchanted Forest. With the three inch wide gilt frame surrounding the glass, the mirror was by far the most ornate object in her home, and was somewhat at odds with the cluttered desk a few paces away. But it was also a top-of-line magic mirror that had served her well over the years.

            At present, its silvered oval face showed only her reflection frowning back at her. Though they had only actually planned to meet for lunch, she had rather _expected_ that Telemain would arrive with the last of his assorted magical equipment. They’d both agreed to get all the moving and setting up of his workroom done before the wedding so that they could enjoy some peace and quiet afterwards.

            Morwen adjusted her glasses and then, speaking very clearly, addressed the mirror.

 

            _“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,_

_I would like to make a call.”_

 

            The silver face shifted to a milky white and the now familiar voice of the mirror asked, “What party are you calling, please?”

            “Telemain.”

            “One moment please,” the mirror replied. Morwen waited.

            Curled up on the desk chair, Sassafras, a slender tortoiseshell, opened her eyes and blinked sleepily. “He would forget to eat if you didn’t remind him.” Sassafras–or more often, Sass–was Cass’s sister, and as unlike her in temperament as they were in colouration. While Cass was small and often overlooked, anyone who overlooked Sass would come to regret it quite quickly.

            Two or three minutes of waiting left Morwen bristling with irritation. Telemain was obviously not at home. He was most likely wandering the woods in search of his mysterious interference pattern.  “Bother the man,” she muttered and ended the call.

            “It’s not too late to call it off,” Sass observed.

            Morwen shot the cat a reproving look. “We are not calling it off and the sooner you accept that the happier you’ll be.”

            The cat’s only response was to extend a hind leg and begin washing it with focussed intensity.

            Sighing, Morwen headed out to retrieve her broomstick, thoughts full of her missing magician. Telemain was brilliant; there was no denying that. Over the years, she had seen him make a series of major magical breakthroughs. But the single-mindedness that made him an excellent theoretician and innovator could also be infuriating, especially when it caused him to forget trifling details like his own well-being. Or the fact that few outside of his field could understand his technical jargon. What made it bearable was his lack of arrogance and his selflessness. It was true that Telemain would bristle if you questioned his competence, but he pursued his inquiries out of curiosity without interest in fame or status, and what he created was always put to use in service of others. He was the very opposite of the leech-like wizards, and had steadfastly guarded the forest against them all these years.

            Nor was he unaware of his foibles. Broom in hand, Morwen paused on her front porch as she thought of the day just last week when a knight had shown up insisting that she was the witch who’d placed a sleeping spell on his kingdom’s eldest princess. Of course she’d done no such thing, and had pointed out that if she had, she certainly would not have stood on her front porch arguing with him about it. That had only resulted in the knight brandishing his sword and announcing that she must be using a spell to confuse him. It had been at that opportune moment that Telemain had appeared. He’d treated the knight to a lecture on recognising the distinctive wave-pattern resonance of individual magic users to determine the origins of enchantments. The knight had endured an entire minute of that before hurriedly suggesting that he’d been mistaken and then disappearing back into the forest.

            Telemain’s bright blue eyes had been twinkling with glee. “I suppose he won’t be staying for lunch.”

            “That was very well done, Telemain. You saved me from having to turn him into a lizard.”

            And then, his face still full of mirth, he’d bowed. “My pleasure.”

            Oh how she’d loved him in that moment, and all she could do was stare at his bearded, blue-eyed face and smile until one of her cats had made a sardonic remark.

            Ever-aware of the likelihood of feline commentary, Morwen gave herself a shake and got on her broom in search of her magician.

 

#

 

            Due to the fact that several dragons, most notably Kazul, King of the dragons, were on the guest list, it was necessary for the wedding venue to be outdoors. Together, he and Morwen had settled on a clearing in the north (sometimes east) section of the forest, which was occupied only on full moons when it became the grazing land for an ambling herd of mooncalves. They had already performed a sweep of the area and turned up two frog princes and a woodcutter’s daughter who’d been transformed into a golden begonia. Another check would need to be done tomorrow morning before the wedding guests began arriving.

            Telemain scowled at the clearing. The day before his wedding was like every day had been for the past week: grey, dreary, and drippy. Given the likelihood of rain, he was somewhat surprised to notice a figure sweeping low over the treetops on a rather twiggy broomstick. Shaking his head, Telemain watched as she came in for a landing; he would never understand how anyone could favour such a mode of transport when there were much more efficient options available. And riding side-saddle was simply out of the question.

            In the gloom, the world seemed to have been drained of colour and Morwen’s ginger hair was the only bright splash left as she strode up to him, broomstick in hand. “I thought I would find you here.”

            He checked the time, remembering that he’d said he’d stop in for lunch. “I don’ believe I’m late, am I?”

            Morwen shook her head. “No, not yet. Though I did think you still had things you wanted to transport over before tomorrow.”

            “Oh,” he said, suddenly abashed. “That’s right.”

            She turned and let her gaze sweep over the clearing. “You still can’t track down the interference.”

            Telemain sighed. “It appears to be a non-localized phenomenon without any tangible foci so far as I’ve been able to determine.”

            “You could ask Mendanbar for some assistance. His unique relationship with the forest might be helpful.”

            “I’d prefer not to.” He could see from the way Morwen’s brows arched and her jaw stiffened slightly that she was already forming an opinion on the motives behind his reluctance. “I didn’t wish to trouble him at present. After their long separation, I’m sure he’d prefer to spend time getting acquainted with Daystar and reacquainting himself with Cimorene.”

            Morwen’s expression softened. “That’s very sensible of you, Telemain.”

            His lips quirked; from Morwen that was very high praise indeed.

            The clouds issued an ominous groan and, within moments, fat raindrops began to tumble down on the clearing. “Allow me,” Telemain said. He moved closer to Morwen so that they were shoulder to shoulder and then twisted one of the gold rings on his right hand.

 

            _“Rain and sleet and hail and snow,_

_From our forms, away you go._

_All things that come down from the sky_

_Be on your way and leave us dry.”_

 

            The air crackled and then the raindrops slid around them as if propelled by an invisible force.

            Morwen gave an appreciative nod. She pointed towards a nearby clump of trees where a toppled trunk slanted out of the woods. “Let’s go sit. I brought lunch.”

            Thanks to the leafy cover overhead, the log was still fairly dry. Once they were settled, Morwen produced a pair of chicken salad sandwiches from her enchanted sleeve and handed one to Telemain.

            For some minutes, they ate in silence. It was a comfortable silence, the thrum of rain a gentle accompaniment to their meal. Soon all the hustle and bustle of the wedding preparations would be over and they could enjoy such companionable meals every day. He was looking forward to it, to being settled, to being able to return to his research while also seeing Morwen each day and each night.

            He must have been staring, he realized, because she paused to look at him, one questioning eyebrow raised. Telemain smiled at her. “I was just thinking how glad I am that we’re proceeding with this course of action.”

            “Lunch or the wedding?” Morwen asked, and he was _nearly_ certain she was teasing him.

            “The latter.”

            She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and looked at him for a long moment. He wasn’t certain what she might be looking for. They had known each other nearly all their lives and he had no secrets from her; she could inspect him as much as she wished. “It’s been forty-odd years in the making,” she said finally.

            Telemain tilted his head and considered this information for a moment. “Yes, I suppose it has. Though my subjective estimate would have closer to twenty.”

            “As if the past seventeen years never happened?”

            He nodded slowly and let out a long breath. He thought of Mendanbar trapped in an in-between place and Cimorene in self-imposed exile, and of the forest suspended on the verge of rescue or ruin... and then of himself, and all the long days and weeks and months he’d shut himself away in his tower. “I suppose we all put our lives on hold in one way or another.” He held out his hand. She offered hers in return and they sat for a while, fingers intertwined, as the rain continued to patter down all around them.

            Soon he found himself considering the raindrops. Could their trajectory give some indication of the source of the interference that had been thwarting him for so many days? He related this notion to Morwen but instead of an answer she said his name very firmly until he turned his attention away from the rain. “Why is this so important to you? We have a contingency plan in place. If you’re worried about the dragons–”

            “No, it’s not that.”

            “Then what? It’s not like you to be so vexed about a problem.” Morwen shook her head. “Normally you’re in a state closer to rapture.”

            “But it _is_ vexing.” He huffed and glanced away, absently stroking his beard. “A lifetime of studying magic and it becomes utterly useless the very moment I try to use it to make you happy.” Telemain was startled out of his irritation when Morwen laughed.

            “You stubborn, foolish–” he opened his mouth to object, “ _dear_ magician,” and then closed it. She leaned in close to him, holding his face in her hands. “The only thing I need in order to be happy tomorrow is for you to show up.” And then, saving him from having to find a reply to that, Morwen kissed him.

            And for all that he’d been content with his solitude over the years, Telemain did quite like kissing Morwen. He liked it very much indeed.

            They broke apart at the sound of a very loud sigh. Together they looked up to see a figure in a yellow coat trudging across the clearing, shoulders slumped and boots dragging with every step.

            “The disruption!” Telemain said, scrambling to reach for his instruments at the same time as Morwen said, “Alfred!”.

            Alfred–for indeed, Morwen was correct and the yellow-clad figure was indeed the hapless prince of Almeria–stopped in his tracks and turned in their direction. He stared for several seconds as if trying to reassure himself they were not an illusion brought on by the rain or perhaps by an enchanted waterfall; Telemain knew of three of these in the forest, each of which had enchanted waters whose mists could call up images from the viewer’s mind, thanks to the ocular projection node embedded in the primary matrix of the enchantment.

            Having apparently made up his mind that they were real, Alfred nodded to each of them. “Hello, Madam Morwen. Good sir.”

            Morwen frowned at him sternly. “How did you end up here? I told you not to leave the path.”

            Alfred’s shoulders slumped as if he were trying to curl in on himself as might a very large turtle. “I tried, but then the rain started coming down so hard that the path got muddy and I slipped down the side of ravine. It took me ages to find my way backup and by then I was quite turned around. I tried to circle back to where I’d started but then I got caught in a carnivorous hedge, and I was chased by a lion, and then–”

            By this point, Telemain had stopped listening, too enthralled by the readings his instruments were giving him. “These readings, Morwen, they’re astounding. No wonder my spell wasn’t functioning properly. The atmospheric turbulence engendered by prince Alfred’s presence is tremendous.” At the back of his mind, Telemain noted that Morwen was giving him a disapproving look, but he was too entranced by the new data to fully register it. “Do you know what this means?”

            “Yes,” Morwen said. “It means he has a very nasty spell on him.”

            Telemain looked up from his instruments. “Oh. Yes. That as well.”

            Morwen turned to the prince. “Perhaps you should sit down and tell us the exact terms of the enchantment that’s been placed on you.”

            “The would be most helpful,” Telemain said as he rummaged through his pockets for his magnetropic junction analyser.

            Alfred sat down on the log and drew back the hood of the mustard-yellow coat Morwen had given him. His head at least was dry, though somehow, his mustache remained sodden and fat droplets of water dripped from its ends as if it were weeping at its sorry state. Beyond the cover of the trees, the rain came down in a steady sheet. He pointed at it. “The rain. I was cursed by rain. So much of it that the farmers’ fields of our kingdom drowned in it and their crops began to rot. If it wasn’t rain, it was hail. Or snow. One time it snowed in midsummer. The farmers came to the castle with pitchforks. That’s when I was told to leave.”

            He reached into his coat and, after some fumbling, retrieved the oiled pouch with the letter for Mendanbar. Tucked in with it was a second sheet and this one he unfolded and read aloud.

 

            _“Rain, sleet, hail, and snow_

_Will follow you where you may go._

_All things that come down from the sky,_

_Will leave you drenched and never dry._

_The rain you’ll bring always and ever_

_Until two magics be bound together.”_

 

            “Fascinating,” Telemain said, brow furrowed as he considered the ramifications of this new information. He glanced at Morwen. “It appears to be a reversal of the precipitation-displacing technique I normally employ. However, the sheer amount of power required to–”

            Morwen cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows.

            “Oh. Of course.” Telemain turned back to the prince, who appeared quite baffled. “I believe we can easily remove the enchantment.”

            Alfred perked up–at least a little, though his feathered cap continued to droop and his shoulders remained stooped. “You can? When? How?”

            “Tomorrow,” Telemain replied. “Morwen, what do you think?”

            She considered for a moment, nodding slowly. “Yes, I see what you’re proposing. It should work if we make a few modifications to the ceremony. And I don’t see how else he could manage it. Under normal circumstances it’s very difficult to find magic users from different disciplines willing to perform a binding ritual.”

            “Binding?” Alfred squawked, leaping off the log.

            “The last line of the enchantment,” Morwen said. “It means that it requires magic of two different types bound together into a single spell to remove the enchantment.”

            Telemain nodded with enthusiasm. “Magical compatibility is difficult to achieve due to the energetic differential of the pattern frequencies.”

            The prince goggled. “What was that last part?”

            Morwen sighed. “Different kinds of magic are like different languages.”

            Telemain stroked his beard with great consideration. “Exactly. A binding ritual allows for the integration of–” Morwen caught his eye and he broke off. “That is to say...” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts and steeling himself for the imprecision about to follow. “A binding ritual is like a translator, allowing two different magical languages to understand each other and work together.” He let out a breath, wincing. That had very nearly been painful. “Normally it would require a complex ritual, a procedure which is typically quite draining for the participants, but in this case, the wedding ceremony should act as a suitable substitute.”

            Alfred paled. “Wedding ceremony?” His eyes darted from Telemain to Morwen as if trying to figure out which of them he was expected to marry.

            Morwen looked at Telemain and he couldn’t help but be delighted by the smile that spread over her face as she said, “Telemain and I are getting married tomorrow.”

            “Oh,” Alfred said, sagging with relief. “My best wishes to you both.” And then, heaving a sigh, “But won’t my presence make rather a mess of things?” He held out his hands in the rain. Within moments small puddles had formed in each palm.

            Morwen sniffed. “Nonsense. We’re prepared for rain. It won’t make one bit of difference.” She paused to glance at Telemain. “Isn’t that right?”

            Meeting her eyes, Telemain smiled. “That’s exactly right.”


	4. Four: In Which There Are Enchantments, Disenchantments, and a Wedding

**Four: In Which There Are Enchantments, Disenchantments, and a Wedding**

 

            The morning of Morwen and Telemain’s wedding, the sun rose behind a thick veil of clouds with a train of mist and drizzle, decorating the tree branches with dewy pearls. As far as the bride and groom were concerned, it could not have been a more beautiful day.

            The wedding venue had the look of a grandiose fair thanks to the immense pavilion tent that had been raised in its  centre. Several dragons had arrived just after dawn to help raise the massive poles that held it up. Covered walkways radiated out from the tent like wheel spokes so that guests could make their way out of the woods to the tent with minimal exposure to the elements. Morwen and Telemain were there early–still in their everyday attire–doing final checks to ensure no lingering enchantments remained in the area.

            They had spent most of the day before making preparations for Alfred’s disenchantment so it came almost as a surprise to Morwen when she realized it was time to prepare for the actual wedding ceremony. Tucked away in a private tent apart from the crowd of guests, Morwen was smoothing out the folds of her dress and running through her mental checklist when Cimorene caught up with her. Cass and Sass, who’d been keeping watch on the door, announced her just before she appeared.

            “Morwen,” Cimorene said, smiling as she pushed back the tent flap and saw her there. “Oh, look at you.” And for a moment Cimorene stood and did just that.

            Morwen’s gown was much like her everyday black robes except that it was white and trimmed with gold. As a special allowance for the occasion she had let her hair hang down around her shoulders in ginger waves. A wreath of white apple blossoms, from her own garden naturally, rested on her head, filling the air around her with their fragrance.

            “It’s good to see you, Cimorene.”

            “You too. I’ve been wanting to stop by to visit but things have been so busy at the castle.”

            Morwen nodded. “I’m not surprised. The forest has been without a king and queen for a long time. Where is Mendanbar by the way?”

            “He wanted to talk to Telemain before things got started. Something about the weather...” Cimorene frowned and shook her head. And then, a sly smile quirking her lips, “You know, he’s still surprised about this wedding.”

            Morwen raised an eyebrow. “Is he?”

            “He said–” And here Cimorene tilted the diadem on her head to a rakish angle like Mendanbar’s and performed her finest imitation of her husband. “One minute they’re arguing and the next they’re getting married.”

            Adjusting her glasses allowed Morwen to avoid Cimorene’s eyes for a few moments. “There _were_ some parts in between.”

            Cimorene laughed. “I’m sure there were. Besides, I told him you were just cross with Telemain because you were worried.”

            And that, Morwen had to admit, was entirely accurate. Watching a wizard skewer him with a “plain sword” as Telemain himself put it, had not been good for her nerves. She really could have done without that bit of drama. “He did give me a scare.”

            “I understand.”  Cimorene patted her hand in a motherly fashion and Morwen was momentarily reminded that the Cimorene who stood before her now was not the same young woman who had left the forest more than a decade and a half ago.

            “You aren’t surprised,” Morwen observed.

            “No, not really.” Shaking her head, Cimorene appeared thoughtful for a moment. “When Mendanbar told me about what happened–about Telemain getting hurt in the battle–it reminded me of something, something I hadn’t thought about in a long time. Do you remember when we travelled through the Smoky Swamp?”

            “How could I forget?” She brushed at the sleeves of her dress as if wiping away flecks of mud. “I’ve never been quite so muddy in my life.”

            “Neither have I,” Cimorene agreed wryly. “But the whole time, you were so focussed on getting Telemain somewhere he could recover. You barged into Brandel’s tower just to get Telemain a place to rest. And it wasn’t until he was safe and settled that you were willing to discuss anything else.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I remember being so impatient because the whole time I was worried about Mendanbar. I was so worried that I couldn’t think about anything else. But then I realized that... it was the same for you.”

            “He does make a nuisance of himself sometimes,” Morwen said, adjusting her glasses once more. Back then, if pressed, she would not have called it love. She would have used some more innocuous word–affection, friendship, fondness–even if none of these seemed to be a perfect fit, like an undersized blanket that left your toes poking out. But she and Telemain had known each other for so long; there was little use in trying to identify the moment their feelings had crossed some nebulous threshold. What mattered was that they’d finally agreed to do something about it.

            “Has he seen you yet?” Cimorene said, taking Morwen’s hands in hers, girlish once more.

            “Of course. We’ve been here for hours, overseeing the preparations.”

            Cimorene rolled her eyes. “I mean has he seen you like this?”

            Sass, still hovering in the doorway, thwapped her tail against the ground. “Not that he’d even notice.”

            Morwen gave the cat a disapproving look. “That’s enough of that.”

            Glancing from Morwen to the cat, Cimorene appeared curious. “The cats haven’t adjusted to the idea yet?”

            “Not quite.”

            Before she could elaborate, Cass approached and rubbed herself on Morwen’s ankles. “Your magician is coming.”

            “Morwen?” Telemain called from outside.

            “Yes?”

            No sooner had he pushed open the tent flap than words were pouring out of him in a rush. “I think we may need to adjust a few elements of the spell to compensate for–” He broke off and stopped, staring at her. “Oh.” For several moments he said nothing at all, and his speechlessness made something in Morwen’s stomach flutter. He stepped forward then and took her hands just as Cimorene had a minute before. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything but black since... Since we were children. You look lovely.”

            He himself was in a dark blue tunic that brought out the colour of his eyes. Silver buttons studded the sleeves and collar, and matched the silver belt buckle at his waist. Because it was a special occasion, he had dispensed with the vest bulging full of magical contraptions and his belt with its many pouches and sheaths. “I didn’t think you owned anything that wasn’t black or grey.”

            He glanced down at the blue tunic. “I don’t. I had it especially tailored for the wedding.”

            “Well,” she said, reaching up to adjust his collar, “you look very handsome.”

            They both turned at the sound of Cimorene’s voice. “What’s this about a spell?”

            Telemain appeared surprised as if he’d not even registered her presence. “Oh, hello Cimorene. We’ve been–” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Having trouble with the weather.”

            And before Cimorene could ask, Morwen jumped in with, “It’s a long story. We’ll have to fill you in later. Now what’s this about adjustments?”

 

#

 

            The wedding party was decidedly royal, consisting of the Queen of the Enchanted Forest and the King of the dragons as matrons of honour, the King of the Enchanted Forest as best man, the Prince of Almeria as a slouching groomsman, and a long train of sulking cats. As they walked beneath the shade of the cream-coloured pavilion roof, the gentle patter of rain became the rushing torrent of an impressive downpour. But Telemain hardly noticed the change; his gaze was fixed on Morwen, his considerable powers of observation focussed on taking in every detail and committing them perfectly to memory.

            Hair down and dressed in white robes instead of her habitual black, this Morwen was a far cry from her practical, everyday self. Morwen had never, as a rule, been very expressive. She was staid and sensible, not one for grandiose shows of emotion, so the broad smile she wore as she walked towards him spoke volumes. And all he’d had to do was show up.

            She joined him at the front of the assembly and he found himself smiling as well–a little foolishly, he suspected. But it was his wedding day and surely that was to be expected. Their eyes met and she gave a little nod, which he returned, and then they turned to face the assembled guests.

            “Thank you all for coming today,” Morwen said. “We have had a slight change in plans for the day.” This caused some murmurs from the crowd and Telemain did not miss the way Morwen’s lips twitched with suppressed amusement. “During the course of the ceremony we’ll be performing a disenchantment.”

            Here, Telemain stepped forward. “We’d appreciate it if everyone would refrain from employing any competing enchantments as these could destabilize the–”

            “ _Telemain_ ,” Morwen said under her breath.

            He glanced at her and then back at the assembly. “That is to say... please don’t cast any spells during the ceremony as they could... interfere.”

            The crowd murmured a little more and then settled down. After all, this _was_ a wedding between a magician and a witch; certain irregularities were to be expected.

            With the announcements concluded, Telemain and Morwen set about making preparations. Morwen pulled a pouch out of her sleeve and began emptying its contents–an ashy, grey powder–onto the ground, forming three quarters of a circle. They had spent several hours yesterday in his new workroom, preparing this element. It had required a precise combination of plants, some fresh from Morwen’s garden and others in dried form from their combined storerooms, along with a lock of hair from each of them and then mixed and heated until reduced to charcoal. Together, they stepped into the circle, and only then did Morwen complete it with the remainder of the ash. After that, they joined hands and faced forward, signalling the start of the wedding ceremony proper.

            Telemain found himself quite distracted during the proceedings. He could feel a tingling in the tips of his fingers and in his belly, and he was uncertain how much was nerves and how much was the spell. The disenchantment they were attempting to perform for Alfred was new to them both. The purpose of a binding ritual and its extensive preparations was to synchronise the users’ magical frequencies. For those who worked with vastly different wavelengths, the process could be lengthy and exhausting. Like personal compatibility, magical compatibility was not an everyday occurrence. However, a wedding ceremony like theirs involved a conscious decision by the participants to reach a middle ground of compatibility. That very fact, made it much easier to bring their magical frequencies into synch as well.

            The tingling sensation in his fingers had definitely increased, almost like static, but without the pinprick of pain that normally accompanied a shock. Any worry that he was the only one experiencing the phenomenon, was erased when Morwen squeezed his fingers more tightly. She cast him a sideways glance, lips thinned to a line as if she were a little nervous herself. He caught her eye and winked. Her lips twitched into a tiny smile.

            Most of the ceremony was a blur to Telemain. It was with a start that he realized Morwen was moving, turning to face him, which meant it was time to complete the ritual. It was the most delicate part of the procedure and either it would allow their magical frequencies to fully synchronize and combine into one spell... or all the magical energy they had gathered so far would dissipate and the attempt would fail.

            Facing each other inside the circle they joined hands. The tingling transferred from his right hand to his left. He gave a nod, which she returned, and then he let go of her other hand. Morwen removed something from her sleeve, a length of gnarled green vine. She wound it around their joined hands and then held it there as Telemain, with only his right hand, clumsily knotted the vine so it would remain in place. They had had to practice this for upwards of an hour yesterday to ensure they could do it properly–tying magical knots one-handed was no mean feat.

            They joined hands again and this time it was like a shock, rippling up and down his arm. Their eyes met and locked.

            As planned, it was Morwen who began.

 

            _“From there to here._

_From far to near._

_From apart to together._

_From sometimes to forever.”_

 

            And, hands still clasped, eyes still locked with hers, Telemain completed the spell.

 

            _“Like the sinews of this vine,_

_With its power to entwine,_

_As I am yours, so you are mine.”_

 

            The moment the words were out of his mouth, he could feel the swell of magic around them. The vine binding their hands began to glow with a golden light that felt warm against his bare skin.

            “Prince Alfred,” they said together. Just as he’d been instructed, the prince came to the edge of the circle of ash. His skin was pale and his eyes kept darting to the glowing vine as if it were a snake he feared would lash out and bite him. Moving in unison, Morwen and Telemain released their unbound hands and placed them on Alfred so that they each clasped one of his shoulders. Together they spoke the words of the final spell:

 

_“Rain and sleet and hail and snow,_

_From his form, away you go._

_All things that come down from the sky_

_Be on your way and leave him dry.”_

 

            With a sudden burst of light, the magic gathered around the vine shot through them and into Alfred. Instantly, the vine crumbled, freeing their hands. Which was excellent because then Telemain was free to wrap his arms around Morwen and kiss her.

            And because Telemain was so busy kissing Morwen, it was some time before he noticed that it had stopped raining.

 

#

 

            Now that the sun had come out, the dragons moved from under the cover of the pavilion into the open field where there was more space for them to stretch out. The guests served themselves from tables laid out with plates and bowls of food, and an elfin orchestra began playing music for dancing. And Telemain was eager to dance, just as they had at Mendanbar and Cimorene’s wedding all those years ago. That was, if he could ever disengage himself from Prince Alfred.

            “I cannot thank you enough times,” the Prince was saying. For the sixth time–Telemain had kept count. “You have my eternal gratitude. Are you sure you won’t accept one of the baronies I’m entitled to? It’s a lovely little corner of Almeria. There are orchards and vineyards, and hardly any giants at all.”

            Telemain shook his head. “I’m positive that neither of us is interested in the distractions and responsibilities inherent in taking possession of a barony. And we’re already very well settled here in the forest.”

            “If you insist,” Alfred said. He pushed back the drooping feather of his cap. “But if you ever require a favour of me, you have only to ask.”

            “Thank you,” Telemain said, but already his attention had wandered back to Morwen. She stood a few paces away, talking to Kazul, who was stretched out in the grass outside the pavilion, with only her head now beneath the cover of the tent. The sunshine made her scales glint like jewels, and several cats were perched on her back and tail. Shiara had come with Kazul from the Mountains of Morning and she and Daystar stood together to one side of the dragon.

            “He’s very lucky to have you,” Kazul was saying to Morwen. And with that, Telemain certainly agreed.

            “I think you’re the only one who would have him,” Shiara said.

            “Shiara!” Daystar said, sounding scandalized and glancing in Telemain’s direction to see if he’d heard. Telemain laughed.

            He moved to join them and clasped Morwen’s hand. “That is most likely an accurate observation.

            Morwen intertwined her fingers with his. “It’s just as well since he’s the only one I’d have in any case.”

            That answer filled him with gratitude and happiness that tingled almost as much as the spell had. Over the years, they had parted ways so many times, but each time they found each other again, they grew a little closer. All of those meetings and partings and meeting-agains had intertwined their lives, binding them into a knot as beautiful as it was complex.

            “Do you have plans?” Kazul said.

            Telemain smiled and looked at Morwen. They would dance and eat and talk with friends and accept their good wishes. And then, when the day was wearing away, they would go home together, spend the night together, and wake up together. She would remind him to eat when he became too absorbed by his work, and he would remind her to come out with him and see all the wonders waiting to be investigated and understood and enjoyed. Yes, they most definitely had plans.

            Morwen was smiling back at him and, as if reading his mind, she replied, “Yes, we do.”

 

**The End**


End file.
